The Nature of Flames
by jazelock
Summary: He was the joker of their deck. Roxas was a wild-draw-4 and how were they supposed to finish the game now? Slight Larxel and Akuroku. Maybe LexZex if you squint and look cross-eyed.


Yes, I am alive. Yes, this is one of my longer oneshots. Yes, I own Kingdom Hearts. One of the previous statements does not belong. Guess which one.

* * *

It ended with air.

They were all so stupid in their little eccentric ways. Number Six's cleaning fetish that should have cursed him into a Dusk scores of times over were he not one of the _chosen ones_ by a close shave. Demyx and his obsession in finding true music again.

_And Axel asked him once why the hell didn't he bother to just understand that his heart was locked away now. That pink glowing thing you want? Gone home to Kingdom Hearts without a glance backwards. And Demyx had answered with too sane eyes through wisps of bangs, everything sounds a note too hollow without dreams. And that answered more questions than it had any right to. So Axel steered clear of the Nocturne. Not that he was scared._

Marluxia's famish of a starved crazed man for power, even the pretense of the shadow of power, which everyone _knew_ would stab him in the back sooner over later. And, of course, there was himself. A-x-e-l, got it memorized now go save her.

The wildest card of them all. He knew what they thought of him, was still unsure as to why he still had his form and was not yet reduced to writhing white zipped limbs. (But he attributed that to Xemnas's escalating fanaticism, eyes only for a sickly curved moon now.) So he flew under the radar. Endured the knotted webs of deception spun by them all. Laughed with just a touch of instability at his superiors' wary calculating gazes. "Who knows what that one is thinking?" What, indeed.

And then Sora-plus-an-x (minus a heart) stumbled into their sticky labyrinth. And Axel fell off kilter, spiraled in amongst unmapped stars and comets. His carefully compiled profiles of everyone were thrown aside and scattered haphazardly as he desperately tried to account for this new factor.

Because Xemnas had been easy to understand, slightly unbalanced as he was, had rules to his madness that could be figured out, and Axel was well on his way in doing so.

Xigbar even easier because their Keyblade-Master-may-care attitudes had ran side by side in almost parallel lines. An uneasy alliance cast by sulfur eye and poisonous eyes. I don't mess with you and you do the same. But when you do…

(because) he had never quite figured out what Xaldin jumped at, what sparked his fire, but neither had he cared. Complete missions given, report back with a snippy complaint, then shut the hell up before a lance missed the air by his ears and got his forehead.

(because) Vexen: easy to rile, experimental scientist extraordinaire. Lexaeus and Zexion, because they came as a packaged deal, heh, and too smart for their own goods. It had been Lexaeus who had expressed the general thought about what went on beneath crimson spikes of hair, and Axel had adjusted his estimation of the other man accordingly. Brawn was definitely present, but accompanied by brains as well. Pity the vice-versa could not apply to the Bonnie of the tomahawk-wielding Clyde. Not one to dirty his hands by any action more taxing than flipping page of a book. He'd lived up to his title as a schemer, true; Axel begrudgingly acknowledged that much. But with all his keen observations and carefully mapped plans, Zexion's weak spot had been his vanity regarding his own intellect. His naivety regarding those little kinks, those little unpredictable factors. Such as Axel. The chaos factor. And so the Cloaked Schemer would fall with choked screams into oblivion. And before him would tumble the Silent Hero, dissolving arms reaching for his chink in the armor, Zexion, nothing.

(because) Saïx was incomprehensible, not exactly as Xaldin was though, but because he was in a lost myriad of confusion himself. So weak, so _pathetic_ really. Berserker, velvety smooth, a werewolf, a snake, a walking contradiction. No, not dangerous, even as the Superior's loyal _puppy_ but in his own special way, yes. Yes, he posed a threat because Saïx was a rare one who could get under Axel's skin on the occasion, and Axel was always caught off guard with the unpredictability.

"_What's more important to you? This worthless semblance of friendship you cling to? Or the prolonging of your existence long enough to regain your heart?"_

It hurt to be around the optimistic Demyx. Hang around him too long and he might actually convince you that you can feel. Sure, they could feel up to a point—lust, echoes of rage, physical pain. The reverberating echo behind their ribs, emptiness ricocheting off bone and through caged silence. It thundered more hollowly in each of their chests however when confronted by the sitarist's pure hope, delusion so convincing a fairy tale.

Luxord. Accented, gambling, _cheating_ Number Ten. No danger lay there and, besides, they crossed paths only once in a shadowed moon (because no blue lunar glow was for them). And Axel could predict, just as in a smoky drunken bar, Luxord would get caught with the second Ace of Spades up his coat's sleeve and bam wham, there goes the gambler, out the door.

And then there was Marluxia. The first Nobody ever to have thrown Axel into a quiet panic of clenched teeth and racing thoughts. When Axel stalked the colorless halls like a wary fox, chewing nervously, anticipating the sharp edges of the trap that might sink into soft flesh and _rrip_ he would have to snap bone and skin to get free, stump of a leg and three more. It was a week and a half before Larxene that everything snapped into place, the kaleidoscope turned, and a rush of realizations coursed through him. Axel, giddy with relief, found their paths almost converging before veering in sharp opposites, but he had glanced over the other's shoulder at _his_ map now, and he would not lose sight of the other distant road. He would watch as swirling mists of power clouded the assassin's eyes and the scythe's swing came sluggishly to a halt. As Marluxia found visions of feasts and gorged himself silly, Axel could safely watch, lean and hungry from the shadows a few yards ahead, chuckling in not quite I-told-you-so but I-knew-it all along.

(because) then Larxene arrived, jammed chock full of snarls, tension, and double X chromosomes. _Every_one straightened then and took notice, if but only for a second. Not that any of them would have cared to admit that the sudden presence of a _female_ in their frustrated lives stoked needs that went suddenly unfulfilled with the hand. The men more advanced in rank chose to squelch that need, burying themselves within their respective duties whenever the presence or the presence of the thought of curved chest and blond curls surround a well of promise between smooth legs approached. Teeth clicked and impassive glares intensified when the she-demon draped languid curves tightly against the back, but they did nothing, save for a "Remove yourself, Twelve." Because numbers could not convey a lust for soft white flesh and tight tight glistening heat. The neophytes, well, were a bit more active in their pursuits. Braving lightning and kunai, then sharp raking nails and tearing teeth, until…

"_Is this worth it, darling Axel?" A white flash of crackling heat whips too close, standing hair on end. Axel groans and digs wiry fingers into pale hips, scraping flakes of skin and raw gouges. The nymph hisses in drenched pain, retaliating clench for clench in the same thin stream of breath, "Is this 'satisfying'?"_ _She snaps pearly teeth on an earlobe already beading drops of crimson and moans through bloodstained teeth when Axel growls low and snaps his hips up sharply, doubling the sweet pain for both of them. _

_And then he gasps again when she drags thin lines of blood down his chest. And damnit, when had she summoned those kunai of hers? He watches her buck above him; she smiles wickedly and darts out a pink tongue to lick his blood off her toys._

"_Bitch," he snarls without breaking pace._

"_Who's talking?" she murmurs sweetly._

And suddenly nothing made sense any more. Because while Axel was the lovely unexpected joker of their deck of cards, Roxas was a damn wild-draw-4 thrown into the pile and no one's hand could fix the game now.

Alright, fine, he was whipped, so whipped by hypnotic blue eyes and untamable blond tufts of hair. The boy had ensured that his heart would never return to its rightful owner. The moment it flew free, it would sail straight into the clutches of Roxas's small fists, pink glow and all.

He wasn't in love with the kid. He couldn't. It was debatable whether he could even be in like with him. But the one thing Axel was certain of was that he was and could not be in lust. The thought alone of claiming those soft lips, of darkening blue eyes and keening voice, made something lurch sourly in the pit of his stomach. Still reeling, he knew he had to guard the naïve angel from all the tainted demons, including himself, who would seek to drag purity down to their dark levels.

_And when he caught Larxene pressing close behind his angel in the library one day, Axel's eyes had flared and blond antennas of hair caught on fire. What followed resulted in weeks of sore, shocked nerves on Axel's part, bruises and cuts for both her and him, and no nightly activity between them ever again. Zexion's retaliation afterwards too, for damaging his treasured books in their childish sparring, did nothing to improve Axel's physical condition. But it was Roxas cornering him the next day with a "Why'd you do that?" that made him react. "Because…we're best friends, got it memorized?" And if Roxas caught the faint waver on his words, he made no comment. Just dragged the redhead by the elbow through a darkness portal until they reached the twilit town of sunsets and icy treats. And that was more than fine with Axel. _

Until Roxas kissed him, that is. Because even now, Axel was still not quite sure whether the innocent gesture was done out of pure pity and apology or…or…? When only moments earlier, his Roxas had leveled cold, impassive eyes at him and cuttingly bit out, "No one would miss me." No one. Nobody. _Nobody_.

Me. "I would…" _Your_ Nobody. I would miss you.

And suddenly Roxas was standing before him again and Axel wondered when he had returned. On his knees to worship now and his seraph deemed him worthy to press searing lips to his cheek. Then he was walking away again, turning his back.

_Worthy, but not enough_. "Do not walk away from me, Thirteen!" he shrieked and he saw Roxas's body stiffen but not pause. Damn it, was now the best time to bring into play his supposed superiority over the boy and he had the best goddamn sense of timing, didn't he? Because Roxas did not stop, not even to toss one of those cold cold glances he was so adept at giving over his shoulder. Which was the main indicator that oh he had fucked up so irreparably. "Roxas, wait! No!"

Axel could not even summon up the will to chase him down. It would've been easy: the boy was still walking—walking, damn him—not quite faded into shadows yet. He could tackle him, suffer the brunt of furious kicks and bruises, screamed threats and clawing gouging fingers, hogtie the little bastard, and drag him back. But then…?

But then Xemnas would force Roxas under neverending surveillance, kept tightly bound to the Organization. Roxas would never be trusted again, having been caught in the act of betrayal. (Which normally got you Dusked, but Roxas was their precious Key of Destiny, their twisted messiah, so all hail their savior, wrap him up lovingly in cold chains. Loving. Ha.) And Roxas would never trust him ever again. And that fleeting vision of blank, hooded eyes whenever he approached for an eternity afterwards, (or however long Nobodies existed for), of never seeing a smile curving those lips, a gleam dancing in those eyes, never again for him. Well, that dismal glance into the resulting future stopped Axel in his tracks before he could start.

_Not worthy…_ was what unfroze his body and mind, enough to reel him back to almost-sanity and realize that, fuck, it was pouring and he was soaked.

One day shy of two weeks later, he was still freezing, bones minutely trembling, except for a numbing heat below his eye. It burned with an intensity that terrified even him, and that was a laugh, the Flurry of Dancing Flames scared of heat. In Twilight Town, in the presence of his angel, he could have drowned out the agony that made him want to claw his entire eye and tattooed skin into shreds because Roxas. Was. Here. And everything would be all right now.

But the blond boy in front of him holding a Keyblade was not his Roxas and, damn it, even as not-Roxas, he could still manage to upset all their mechanisms. Axel would have snorted if he could at that. And when he returned to the castle, he couldn't even let out all the fury, despair, fear, pain he shouldn't feel. He could have crawled back to Larxene, submitted to her sadistic games and taunts, if only to be able to take out his anger in sharp staccato thrusts, except she was dead. Axel could have smothered his face in his pillow and screamed ragged sounds and licks of smoke, cause every Assassin in the city to flutter nervously, pale eyes swiveling upwards. Except he didn't.

He didn't do a lot of things he should have those days, Axel mused. Didn't save Roxas, didn't destroy the memoryless shell of his angel, didn't obey the higher-ups. Gave the superiors a big fat up-yours, far as it'll go, when he betrayed them for now Sora-Roxas actually. Because he'd rather die looking for air than live sucking in breaths of vacuum.

And that's why he blew himself up. For the big blue eyes he saw now with steadily blurring vision. For the shining flickers of golden he swore he could see of the boy bending over his crumbling form. I found you, he tries to rasp out, but blackened lungs steal his words.

Axel gasps reflexively and the dying remnants of his brain spark. Roxas was his air, he's found him, he can breathe now.

But he's just found out that he has gills, flapping uselessly in the air, gasping for water not air…

_And wasn't that just ironic ha ha ha…_

_Ha. ha ha. ha hahaha hach h a c h . . ._


End file.
